My father didn’t know how to express love, and it was my mother who made our family get along well. He just goes to get off work every day, and his mother makes a list of the wrong things we have done, and then he scolds us.
Once, I stole a piece of candy, he asked me to send it back, told the seller that I stole it, and said that I would unpack and unload the goods for him as compensation. But my mother understood that I was just a child.
I was swinging on the playground and broke my leg. It was my mother who held me on the way to the hospital. Father parked the car at the door of the emergency room, they told him to drive away, saying that the space was reserved for emergency vehicles. When my father heard this, he yelled: “What kind of car do you think this is? A tourist car?”
At my birthday party, my father always seemed a little out of proportion. He was just busy blowing up balloons, setting up the table, and doing chores. It was my mother who pushed the cake with candles over and let me blow.
When I look through the photo album, people always ask, “What is your father like?” God knows! He is always busy taking pictures of others. There are countless photos taken by my mother and I together with a smile.
I remember my mother once asked him to teach me to ride a bicycle. I told him not to let go, but he said it was time to let go. After I fell, my mother ran over to help me, but my father waved her to go away. I was very angry and determined to show him some color. So I immediately climbed onto the bike and rode it to him by myself. He just smiled.
When I was in college, all my family letters were written by my mother. In addition to sending a check, he also sent me a short card saying that because I have not played football on the lawn, his lawn is very beautiful.
He seemed to want to talk to me every time I called home, but he always said, “I asked your mother to pick it up.” When
I got married, it was my mother who shed tears. He just blew his nose loudly and walked out of the room.
I’ve been listening to him since I was a child, “Where are you going? When will you go home? Does the car have gasoline? No, you are not allowed to go.” My father didn’t know how to express love at all. Unless—could it be that he has expressed it and I have not noticed it?
